Clang, clang, clang |

Clang, clang, clang

The first Saturday morning of September dawned cool and cloudy in Aspen. I could sense that the summer weather was about to change. You could feel it in the air.

I could barely see the tips of the Maroon Bells through the morning mist out my window, and moody clouds hung low in the valley, obscuring my view of town. I skipped my usual bike ride.

Late in the afternoon, I dashed down Durant Street to pick up some groceries, run a few errands and stroll around our beautiful little village. Next to Rubey Park, I passed Jon Busch’s newly restored trolley.

It beckoned me to pay a visit. I tiptoed inside and sat in the last seat in the back, alone. The sun peaked out from behind the clouds, and the last rays of light danced over Shadow Mountain, warming me as I relaxed in the historic cabin.

The restoration of the trolley was beautiful. I could smell the newly varnished oak trim, and the quiet patina of the ancient brass fittings winked and blinked at me softly.

Suddenly, a young boy startled me, as he gleefully jumped up from the street into the conductor’s station. Rhythmically, his foot pulsed against a bright metal pedal on the floor. The first sounds of the horn were shrill, but they soon turned into a soft, mellifluous clanging that rang across the park.

Recommended Stories For You

Undoubtedly, if you had been with me at that very moment, you would agree with Jon Busch that trolleys in Aspen would be wonderful. Let’s give them a chance.

Jerald A. Bovino


Start a dialogue, stay on topic and be civil.
If you don't follow the rules, your comment may be deleted.